


Private Education

by aphrodite_mine



Category: Bend It Like Beckham (2002), Heroes (TV)
Genre: Community: femslash08, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-12
Updated: 2008-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 20:12:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2123190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphrodite_mine/pseuds/aphrodite_mine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I do find that presumptive, actually. But I don’t mind that in a girl.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Private Education

**Author's Note:**

> Post-BiLB, Heroes AU. Thanks to escritoireazul, takemeback, fishy73, midnight_united, and chachirinoda.
> 
> I know nothing first-hand about New Orleans, Hurricane Katrina, England, Loyola University, or football.

“ _You, you could wear me 'round like your best dress  
and I, I wouldn't mind you could ruin me in one long night  
and then cast me aside,_” – Josh Pyke

\--

After Jules breaks her heart for the fourth time, Jess says "Fuck it," slams the door behind the blond as she leaves, and collapses a little on her bed, refusing to cry. She doesn’t have to do this. She certainly doesn’t want to.

Holding the letter in her shaky hand, she dials home and has Dad go on the speaker so Mum can hear too. She goes over religious affiliation, over money to be exchanged, over location, knowing hard facts now will be better than the grapevine later.

“Absol _lute_ ly not,” her mother shrieks over the line, hearing the plan in Jess’s calm tone. “There is no way your father will allow for such a thing.”

“It’s true, Jessminder,” she pictures her father eying Babaji, stroking at his beard, “I’m worried you’re being influenced as it is.”

“And such a dangerous area! Should it flood again!”

Jess sighs, picturing Juliette’s neck arched as the girl turns back and smiles. “It won’t, mum. And I’ve no interest in converting, trust me. I just want to get out of here.” She smooths the paper out against the comforter on her bed, white against dark purple. “I’m sick of skimpy bathing costumes at the beach, you know?”

A pause. Her father’s voice. “To that she has a point, Missus.”

\--

Her last night in California, Jess leaves everything in her room packed aside from her football, which she takes to the field. She watches a thin fog rise up over the hills in the starlight and bounces the ball calmly, knee to knee, trying not to cry.

Who can score a goal, she asks herself, when they’ve got tears in their eyes.

\--

Jess has a two-and-a-half hour layover in Las Vegas; yet another city she’s never been to, yet another time, place, state of mind she never wanted to be. She wanders the airport idly, backpack weighing down her shoulders, air pouring in from the vents and making her shiver. She undoes and redoes the thick braid down her back no less than five times while she stands in line for the newsstand.

She flips through a gossip magazine, rolls her eyes at the shiny celebs all lined up to be consumed. Decides to pick up the _Daily Mail_ , surprised they’ve actually got a copy.

After coffee and the news from home and “abroad” have been downed, she wanders back to the magazine rack, leafing through for something to read on the plane. All she’s got in her carry-on is some brief history of saris that her mum sent her for this very purpose. Really, she should have planned better.

Jess adds that to her mental list of failures after “don’t fall for your bitch blond bisexual teammate” and tosses the latest _Maxim_ at the cashier, mumbling something about “no porn in my country… little brother,” figuring the lad’ll believe it or not. At least she’ll have something to occupy herself with until landing.

\--

At three weeks, she’s feeling homesick. For rain, for spice, for fog, for _Jules_ , and she doesn’t even have to lie when she nods into the phone as her mum insists that she get some authentic Indian food – even if she has to cook it herself.

So Jess asks the girl at the Loyola student center if she knows a good restaurant and scribbles the complicated walking directions in the back of her planner, nods, and takes off at a slow jog. By roughly seven lines down and a thin sheen of sweat later, Jess is certain she’s made a wrong turn and gives up, deciding simply to eat at the next place that doesn’t look like she’ll come down with something afterwards.

Burger Bonanza doesn’t look bad, not on the grand scale of things.

And upon entering, the rush of cool air isn’t the only thing that hits her. Jess’s eyes flick across the counter to the girl standing behind it, the scowl on her face that quickly switches to a smile. “Welcome to Burger Bonanza, can I help you?” Jess shifts her weight, tucking the directions to Café Blue into her bag.

“I suppose so,” she says, conscious as ever of her accent, especially against the lilting voice coming – snapping – from this girl’s cherry mouth. “Is there something you would recommend?” Jess shrugs a little and licks her lips, trying not to stare. She eyes the menu; varieties of hamburger, chicken sandwiches, salads. Jules would say they were too classy for this place.

The girl shrugs. Her name tag reads _Monica_. “The Bonanza Double or the Chicken Bonanza, I guess.” She taps on the top of the register with a short nail. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t been workin’ here long. Camille would know better, but she’s on break.”

Jess blushes, but she doesn’t know why, and tries to hide it by looking down at her feet for a moment. Her braid flops down over her shoulder, and she feels the need to swipe at the sweat glistening on her forehead.   
“Wouldn’t hurt to try the chicken, then. And a water, please.” She fishes around in her bag for the cash and change as Monica rings up the total. “And,” she pauses, clears her throat, “if you like, I’m over at Loyola and wouldn’t mind the company. If you don’t think I’m presumptive that is.”

Monica raises an eyebrow. Her left. “I do find that presumptive, actually. But I don’t mind that in a girl.” She looks down, smiles. “Total’s 4.23. I get off at seven.”

\--

It doesn’t occur to Jess until 6:57 that she never mentioned to Monica where to meet but she knows it’s too late now, even at a breakneck run, to catch her before she leaves Bonanza.

Feeling guilty, Jess changes into a looser jersey, figuring she might as well get some football in while she frets over if Monica will show or not.

There’s a part of the quad where Jess has taken to doing solo practices – not that the other girls aren’t nice. She just can’t deal with nice sometimes. She told herself, told her family, told Jules; that she was coming here for a change. Apparently, she came here to sulk in peace.

Once outside, Jess loses herself to the quick game of kick and dash that she’s developed for herself when the field is empty and her head is full. She doesn’t know how long Monica has been sitting there when she finally does notice her, but between her wrist watch and the darker girl’s changed clothes, Jess thinks – at least hopes – it hasn’t been long.

“I’ve never seen soccer look graceful before,” Monica says, in lieu of hello.

Jess stops the ball with her heel and rolls it back and forth a bit. “Normally, I’d insist on _football_ , but since we’re on your turf, I’ll concede.” She allows an easy smile to spread across her face, all thoughts of Jules – if not vanishing, than at least dimming for awhile. “Sorry if you had trouble finding me. Didn’t do the best job making that clear, then, did I?” Jess tries a gentle kick of the ball in Monica’s direction.

“I don’t play,” Monica says, splaying her fingers, seeming to ignore the other question. But when the ball reaches her, she picks it up with her toe, knees it, heads it back to Jess, all in earnest.

When Jess stops the ball again, opening her mouth to speak, Monica interrupts, a panicked look on her face, “You don’t want to be around me,” and in a blink, Jess just sees her retreating form, her own eyes wide with confusion.

\--

“Welcome to Bonanza Bu- you shouldn’t be here, Jess.”

Jess sets her bag on the counter in what she fears is bordering on a dramatic gesture. “I don’t get it Monica. If you don’t want to ‘hang’ or whatever you call it, that’s fine, but I’m not going to freak out over a few, ah, soccer moves.”

Monica swipes her hand hard against her hips in a frustrated gesture. “Look. It’s not just a few soccer moves. I’m not really sure what it is. It’s…” She lovers her voice, throwing it so only Jess can hear – not the other customers, not the cook or the drive-thru boy. “It’s probably dangerous. And you’re cool, alright? Or at least you seem to be. And I don’t want to put you at risk.”

Jess just smiles. “My mum thinks attending a Catholic university is dangerous, Monica. I’m afraid I might have to take you out for coffee to be truly convinced of your…” she pauses, glancing over Monica, feeling suddenly bold, sensing a vulnerability. Sensing that Monica doesn’t want her hurt. It gives her a thrill. Something she’d forgotten. “Lethal qualities.”

Monica presses her lips together. “What about tomorrow at the pool down the street? I’ve got the day off, and I’m not sure the heat isn’t getting to me.”

Jess nods quickly, before remembering that the only suit she has is one that Jules picked out for her. “What time?”

\--

“Do something I’d have no way of knowing. Like… a flip, or a dive.” Monica treads water, her arms in concentric circles. Jess’s hands lift and dive, her feet doing all the work.

Jess can’t help it when she smirks. “Dunno what you think about footie players, but my time in the water is spent trying to keep my muscles from going to mush, not learning tricks.”

Monica sighs. “I’ll just explain then, I guess. It’s stupid. You’ll just think I’m crazy.”

“I’m the one who asked you out after knowing you for less than a minute.” Jess lifts an eyebrow and sucks in a breath before diving under, avoiding any reply. It’s been almost a year since she’s been swimming, but she can still keep her eyes open, though the chlorine stings a bit. Jess revels in the way the world turns blue and murky. She darts to the right of Monica’s legs, resisting the urge to brush her fingertips against a knee.

Seconds later, she pulls free of the water, feeling it sluice down her back as she shakes her head to free her eyes of the wet. She sees Monica press her lips together, swallow. Feels the familiar twinge in her stomach, lower.

Monica looks away a moment, twists her fingers across the top of the water. “You know, the water like this, it’s a luxury. Nobody every talked about going swimming during Katrina.” Her face gets hard.

Jess pictures the waves crashing over them both, over this whole place. She envisions the whole world in water. She doesn’t know that she’ll ever think of the ocean the same way again, especially since she’ll return across it at the end of the year. She looks at Monica’s dark eyes, wishes her sea-sickness would quell.

“After I see something, I can do it,” Monica says, her voice quiet now. “It’s nothing that I can explain. Like the soccer. I wasn’t lying.” She expels her breath, moves backwards in the water, lifts her feet.

Jess takes a moment to consider this, thinking maybe something she doesn’t understand isn’t so different or so horrible or even any worse than what she’d known before, in her own heart, in her own body. “You should keep your eyes open then,” she murmurs, swimming after Monica, pressing her – gently – against the opposite wall with her full body, keeping her there with her mouth.

Eyes widen, and Monica whispers, "Oh" between them, her body going hard and soft all at once, her hands sliding against Jess's body, pulling her closer.

\--

"No way, you'll not get it past me." Jess laughs as she runs between the two trees they've designated as goal markers, tracking Monica and the ball with her eyes. The girl looks sleek in her borrowed jersey - Jess's - and track shorts - her brother's, smiling wide for once, as she runs after the ball, kicking it tightly between her feet.  
"Wouldn't be so sure of that if I were you," Monica shoots back, lifting the ball high to make contact with her head. "I've been watching some clips of Beckham online."

Jess shakes her head, lowering her stance, winding her body to pounce. Still, she hardly believes it when the black-white blur shoots by her head and lands somewhere behind her among the bushes. "Dirty cheater," she shouts, gleeful. She ignores the ball, runs for Monica. Ducks, tackles.

"Worthy opponent," Monica whispers, arching her back against the grass.


End file.
